


e.

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 02:29:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10844613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: There’s always a different kind of quiet around the castle grounds, when it’s been a bad day.Genji can tell, as soon as he hits the castle doors; can see it in the way the maids shuffle around with their heads down, how the guards avoid eye contact when he walks by. Normally there’s a polite sort of bustle to the palace, a quiet buzz of harmless gossip--but today there is silence, the prickly kind, the kind that crawls under Genji’s skin and settles there, sinks into an uncomfortable weight in the pit of his stomach.He’s never liked the silence much.But he always knows its cause.





	e.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evanelric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanelric/gifts).



There’s always a different kind of quiet around the castle grounds, when it’s been a bad day.

Genji can tell, as soon as he hits the castle doors; can see it in the way the maids shuffle around with their heads down, how the guards avoid eye contact when he walks by. Normally there’s a polite sort of bustle to the palace, a quiet buzz of harmless gossip--but today there is silence, the prickly kind, the kind that crawls under Genji’s skin and settles there, sinks into an uncomfortable weight in the pit of his stomach.

He’s never liked the silence much.

But he always knows its cause.

His footsteps seem extra-loud, in the vacant halls that he walks through to the private living quarters, following a path he’s known for years. Colorful light spills in through the stained-glass windows that yawn tall over the castle walls and plays over the tile floors, over his feet; bright sunbeams turned from gold to shades of green and blue by the dragons that live in the glass panes, depictions of the same beasts that reside in the skin of the Shimada princes. 

He can remember when he was young--when he and Hanzo would run through these halls with bare feet and no care for anything beyond the castle walls, with laughter that echoed off the walls and made their ribs hurt.

Now, he can’t remember the last time he saw Hanzo smile.

The eldest son Shimada’s door is open, at the far end of the hall. That in and of itself is rather strange, but what really gives Genji pause is the noise he hears, coming from Hanzo’s room: soft piano, the chords dragged out in a slow six/eight time, a melancholic melody that he knows by heart. 

And as he gets nearer, he can hear Hanzo’s voice; just as quiet as the keys he plays, barely more than a murmur. Shy, even--Genji would say he’s afraid of being heard, if he thought fear was an emotion Hanzo capable of.

Maybe that’s why he only sings in solitude. 

“I’ve heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord...”

Quietly Genji presses himself against the wall beside Hanzo’s door to listen in, his eyes closing as the melody swells, and he mouths the words along with his brother--it feels intimate, somehow, sharing this sadness with Hanzo. Joining him in this portrayal of his pain.

“...but you don’t really care for music, do you?”

Genji thinks it’s been at least a year since Hanzo played his piano; between Father’s demand for an increase in Hanzo’s studies and his clear disdain for any skill that he deems unnecessary in leading the clan, there’s been left as little motivation as time for him to play. The only time Genji’s seen his brother touch the instrument in recent memory was to clean the dust off the ivory keys. 

It’s a shame, because Hanzo does have such a lovely singing voice--something softer than he uses to address the council with, more genuine than the voice that leaves his lips when he recites Father’s maxims of success. 

He can only imagine what must have happened, to push Hanzo back to the treble and bass.

“Your faith was strong, but you needed proof…you saw her bathing, on the roof…”

It had been a gift from their mother, he’s been told.

Hanzo used to share with him the stories, what he could remember--their mother’s warmth and soft light and the music that flowed from her fingers, him sitting in her lap and looking out at the piano with awe, like it was some great magical thing. Genji peeks in on him now, to see what has changed; and there’s a peacefulness on Hanzo’s face that Genji doesn’t see nearly enough, his eyes closed and the tension lines in his face eased as he sings, making him look more the young man he is instead of the seasoned elder Father seems to want him to be. 

Genji leans his head against the doorframe with a soft sigh, and thinks he could watch it all day.

“She tied you to her kitchen chair…” And Hanzo’s voice grows with the crescendo, his brows furrowing together just slightly with the emotion in his singing. “She broke your throne, and she cut your hair; and from your lips she drew the--”

“Hallelujah,” Genji murmurs, and the music stops with a harshness that _hurts_ as Hanzo snaps his eyes open, visibly startled. His hands turn to claws on the keys, shoulders tensing--and as his mouth settles in a firm line, eyes wary as they fall on Genji’s face, Genji finds himself already regretting intruding on the moment. 

Hanzo sits back, hands leaving the keys to rest on his thighs. “Genji. What are you doing?”

There’s a tiredness in his voice, buried under the accusation, that has become nigh-permanent; and Genji has never hated it more than he does now, when all he wants is to see Hanzo at that point of peace again. He crosses the room to lean against the piano, watching Hanzo watch him. He cants his hips against the piano’s body. 

“Why’d you stop?”

Hanzo raises a brow at him, leaning back a little further. His expression stays guarded. 

“...I wasn’t aware I had an audience.”

“An audience?” Genji laughs, and doesn’t miss the way it makes some of the tension bleed from Hanzo’s shoulders, makes his fingers relax their grip on his pants. The smile he levels at his brother is a little more genuine, a little more hopeful as he says, “It’s just me, Hanzo. I was enjoying listening.”

“...you were.” The statement comes out skeptical, and why should it not; Hanzo’s never been praised for anything that he didn’t do for the direct benefit of the clan. Genji wishes he could make him see that he needn’t feel guilty for having a life outside of the violence and bloodshed.

“‘Course I was,” Genji says, propping his elbows up on the piano’s surface and resting his chin on his hands. “You’re good at it. How’s the next line go? ‘Baby I’ve been here before; in this room, and I--’”

“Seen this room,” Hanzo corrects, frowning. “‘I’ve seen this room, and I’ve walked this floor.’”

“ _Seen_ this room, then,” Genji repeats, before smiling and starting to sing, “‘Seen this room, and--’”

“No.” Again, Hanzo cuts him off; but there’s no heat in his tone, just his ingrained need for perfection as he says, “It’s an A, Genji. You’re off.” He raises one hand to tap the key, letting it ring out in the quiet of the room. “Listen. You need to match that.”

Genji pillows his head in his arms, and gives Hanzo a sly grin. “...might be easier, if I had a master pianist to sing along with.”

The compliment, buried though it is, still makes the tips of Hanzo’s ears turn pink. He huffs and lowers his chin, but Genji can see the hint of a smile that graces his brother’s face through the dark curtain of his bangs.

“You will have to settle for me,” Hanzo says, as he begins to play; and Genji thinks, for the hundredth time, that would be more than enough.


End file.
